Sleight of Hand
by Rxel
Summary: Shamal first meets his Sky in a bar. A bar in Virtual Reality, but a bar nonetheless. The fact that they ended up together in bed was fine. The fact that he harmonized with his Sky as he orgasmed, on the other hand... OMC/Shamal/Reborn. Top!OMC. Virtual Reality and gaming elements. Will be M in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Raphael IX was born to Gabriel XXI and Myshka II on 9th November 4771, in the fortress under the Narshina Forest, one of the few remaining strongholds in the world. In this war-torn world, his very existence was considered a miracle. His birth was celebrated by the world. A child born to two supremely powerful parents, he would surely bring a new age to mankind.

Raphael possessed the good looks of both his parents. He inherited his mother's tan skin and white hair, which contrasted nicely against his father's wine-red eyes. The boy had a delicate face reminiscent of a doll. His wide, wine-red eyes were framed by white lashes, and his lips were a shade which resembled his eyes.

His large, innocent eyes and sparkling smile brought hope and warmth to the weary souls who glanced upon him. Both Gabriel and Myshka held similarly deceptively lean figures, which lead others to believe that he would grow up looking similar.

To the joy of all mankind, Raphael manifested his magic at the tender age of four. The young innocent wept bitterly as he watched the wounded. The dam inside of him seemed to overflow due to the strength of the raw but powerful emotion. What burst from him was a wave of gentle white light. Those caressed by the light felt lighter as years of fatigue disappeared in the wake of white light. Grievous and minor wounds healed alike, saving the lives of many.

As Raphael Awakened, he collapsed on the floor akin to a puppet with its strings cut. Patterns of white bloomed on tan skin for the first time, appearing on his face as well as a line of runes up both arms.

The people gathered for God. They wept in joy and clasped hands to give thanks. He had answered their prayers, and Raphael was celebrated as the saviour and hope of the world. God had once again sent down a healer. They would be able to drive back the Infected and reclaim their land.

Fighters all around the world gathered their magic and took up their weapons in renewed hope. It wasn't over yet. The world _would not_ end with them. They would ensure it. Bolstered at the thought of God sending down a saviour, they charged recklessly into the fray of carnage, decimating heads of the Infected left and right.

Since Raphael's Awakening of magic, he was kept safe in the deepest part of the fortress. It was a life akin to a prisoner, which his mother and father strictly enforced, but he didn't overly mind.

He had seen those who fought off the Infected come back bearing life-threatening wounds, and his presence meant that he would be able to heal and bring peace.

Somewhere in his subconscious, it rankled that he was unable to go out himself to fight, even though he went through harsh training to ensure his survival. It seemed as if everyone else was on the offence, with him being the sole defender.

Something prodded him at his revelation, and uneasy feelings rose in him. He felt as if something was going to go very wrong. _Fight_ it seemed to say, _fight for your future. Build weapons specifically for the Infected and spread them._

Driven by his feelings, Raphael took up the art of crafting and smithing. He ignored his parent's protests. He had to do this. He had to ensure the survival of mankind. Their numbers were depleting at the minute, whilst the Infected were getting stronger with every bite.

After countless failures, Raphael produced his first success. His blood, sweat and tears were nothing in the face of his determination. The time and effort invested was a small price to pay. The mechanics behind converting magic types was akin to finding a small piece of hay in a needlestack. Basically, it was long, painful and gruelling work. Raphael was leading the exploration in uncharted territory. Changing a type of magic into another was unheard of. Every step was a small stumble in the dark.

The gun itself was a work of art. It was sleek and white, a heavy but reassuring load in one's hands. The gun was the forefront of engineering magic that converted magics of all types into Light magic. The user would be able to shoot a bullet of compressed light. Upon touch, the bullet would explode into a small radius of Light magic.

With this, the casualty rates would be lower. Wouldn't it? That niggling feeling at the back of his mind said otherwise, but Raphael felt hopeful. Surely the gun would be able to help them reduce the amount of injuries as well as helping to decrease the enemy.

Raphael laughed, ignoring any unfounded feelings. The white-haired teen squeezed the gun to his chest, feeling the pressure that he had unknowingly put himself under fall away.

He burst out of the doors that were tightly sealed shut during his test run with his latest model. He took a few giddy steps before he stopped short. Everyone had serious looks on their faces.

What's going on? Any happiness that he felt immediately evaporated in the face of the _fear, panic, resolution_ that everyone seemed to be projecting.

He spotted a head of white hair next to red. Raphael ran in their direction, feeling anxious.

"Father! Mother!" he called, catching their attention.

"Raphael," said Myshka, crushing her darling son to her chest in a hug. "The time is now. Every other fortress in the world has already succumbed to the Infected. They are now knocking on our doors." Myshka pressed a kiss to Raphael's forehead, the gesture both affectionate and reassuring.

She removed a silver bracelet from one of the two her wrist, placing it on Raphael's. The bracelet was more of a band. It was plain silver that still shone brightly without any scratches despite years of battle and heavy usage. There was a slot for a gem left unset. "We had originally planned on giving this to you on your 18th birthday, but we'll give it to you early."

"Raphael. Son. Stay inside where it's safe. Nothing must happen to you." Gabriel placed a gentle hand on his son's head, the weight of his hand betraying his untold emotions. His wine-red eyes were gentle and loving towards his only son. He brushed dark red hair behind his ear and sighed. He took off the matching silver bracelet from his wrist, placing it on the same wrist that his wife had attached hers to.

"No!" Raphael shouted. "Let me fight too!" He shoved the newly produced gun towards his father in his desperation. "I just finished this. Magic will be converted to Light magic. I can _help_! _This_ is what I've been trained to _do_. I've always been raised to fight for the people."

His parents looked at each other, years of cooperation let them instantaneously know what the other was thinking.

"I'm sorry."

His father cast a spell over him, causing his consciousness to waver.

"We love you, son." Their words echoed, two voices blending into one.

That was the last thing Raphael heard before Morpheus embraced him in sleep, leading him into uneasy dreams.

Raphael shot from sleep to consciousness in a split second as had been beaten into him. He cradled his aching head. What had he…?

The sleep spell –

A quick glance around him told him he was alone.

The words of his parents rang in his ear. _Every other fortress in the world has already succumbed to the Infected_.

He felt numb. Disbelief was slowly spreading through his body. No. This can't be happening. He felt like he had been hit by a particularly concentrated paralysis spell. Raphael felt like an observer in his own body.

He felt detached as he watched himself stumble towards the barricades that kept the fortress safe from the rest of the world. He spotted his fingers shaking as he pressed pulled the latch to exit. His mind categorized the smells that hit him. _Fresh blood. Old blood. Rotting meat. Burning meat. A breeze._ _Squelching sounds. Crunching sounds. Tearing sounds-_

 _He couldn't. He couldn't –_

Raphael blacked out.

When he woke again this time, it was in stages. What…?

The situation hit him all over again. Raphael felt his vision swimming as he took in the bodies strewn haphazardly on every surface in front of his eyes. Red puddles appeared everywhere. Sometimes they were attached to a body. Sometimes they weren't. There were parts of a person's stomach, someone's intestines, someone's –

The sudden pain made him flinch. Raphael looked down with dazed eyes to see that he had driven his fingernails into his palm, causing red crescents to decorate his skin.

Crimson faintly welled up, gathering in his palm. Blood. Blood was bad… Infected! Where were all the Infected?

Raphael looked around with hollow eyes. There were so many bodies. They were around somewhere.

The teen took a shaky step forward, trails of red running down his fingertips.

His parents. Where were his parents?

Raphael mechanically checked every dead body that he came across. Their faces started blurring together after countless repetitions. Some he recognized, some he didn't. There were more bodies without faces than those with them still intact. Many had parts of their faces ripped off. Before or after they died, he wasn't sure. He thanked them inwardly, but at the same time a small part of himself felt slightly relieved that it wasn't his mother or father's face that appeared.

He thanked God that Infected disintegrated when they died. Otherwise who knew how long this would take.

By the time he neared the end of the forest, he felt surprisingly hopeful. Raphael knew that he shouldn't entertain any hopes before he could confirm anything, but surely if his parents had died, he would have found them by now?

Raphael doggedly continued his search, squelching sounds following, reaching the end of the forest. Suddenly, he spotted white in his peripheral vision. White?

The feeling of dread pooled in his stomach. The earlier hope had completely vanished, leaving despair and hopelessness.

White was extremely rare. Be it materials or colouring, neither were found easily. The fact that his gun had been dyed white was due to the amount of Light magic he had pushed into the metal itself. It had taken a whole month of continuous input of Light magic to even see a shade of grey in the previously black metal.

 _Please_ , he prayed, _let it be the gun and not mother._

Alas, his hopes shattered like glass crashing onto the unforgiving ground. White strands had been dyed red due to the excess amount of blood pooling under his mother's body. Half of her face was – it was gone.

Her single blue eye left was left slightly open as she stared into the void. She no longer saw. No longer felt. No longer _lived_.

Raphael collapsed onto his knees beside her. Her body was cold, cold, _icy cold_.

"Mother," he cried. "Mummy…" he broke off, voice choking with the sobs that bubbled out of his throat. The teen pressed his still bleeding palm onto his face, the bracelets on his wrist clinking together, trying to muffle his sobs. It felt like his whole world had crashed with her passing. She had been _alive_. If he had just fought off the sleep spell –

He didn't know how long had passed before his mind started pulling itself together. His father was still out there. He could still be alive. Raphael choked back tears. _I can cry later. Find father first. Cry later. Why aren't there any Infected that I can_ _ **kill**_ –

Raphael broke out of the clearing, and caught sight of an Infected feasting on a body with _dark red hair_. The tan boy screamed as pure unadulterated rage filtering through his veins, drowning out any thought or emotion.

White eyes turned sharply to look at him as it was alerted to another presence. The infected shot towards the fresh meat, its face bearing a menacing deformed grin.

Raphael directed his Light magic at the single infected being, but it evaded and before he had the chance to react, it tackled him to the ground, causing pain to explode from his head as he impacted the floor.

Black blood entered his mouth as the Infected shoved his fingers into his mouth. He had bitten down reflexively, causing the black blood of the Infected to gush into his mouth, making him gag.

Raphael snarled at injected Light magic into the Infected, causing it to disintegrate, the ashes blown away by the wind.

The tired boy collapsed onto the floor, grief once again filling his very being as the cause of anger had disappeared. His father was dead. His kind but strict father had been ripped from the world, and had his corpse feasted upon.

Raphael cried and wept, his grief and anger directed at the world. The raw emotions he felt were pure and unadulterated in its intensity.

He should just leave this world.

At this moment, Raphael hit his 18th birthday. A newly awakened magic burst from the very depths of his soul as it ripped a void in the world.

Raphael felt himself falling, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. Maybe this would be the end. He wouldn't have to feel any more sadness or hate.

He wasn't sure how long he had been falling, but he felt it when he impacted the ground. His ribs ached something fierce and his vision was swimming.

The exhausted teen couldn't quite muster up any strength to care.

A green box lit up in front of him.

[Pain Resistance Level Up]

What.

Continue or not? What do you think.

As you can see, my OMC Raphael is going through a growing phase as he leaps worlds. Please be kind to him!

This is going to end up Raphael/Shamal/Reborn. With Raphael as the top, of course. *Wink wink*


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Shamal couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the boy seated in the corner of the bar. The figure was casually seated on a stool with his long legs crossed, sipping at the amber liquid with easy grace and elegance in his every movement. Raphael IX was displayed above his head. The words were colored in red, showing that the other had committed an offence, be it Player Killing, PK, or otherwise.

The kid, Raphael, looked around 15 or 16 years old, and really shouldn't be allowed into the bar, but since this was virtual reality, the other had most likely modified his appearance. From what he could see, the youth had short white hair that fell in layers just under his ear, tan skin that seemed to glow with a radiance and a lithe but muscled body.

In Mafia World Online, users could modify their appearance by a degree of 20% from your base figure. Eye color, hair color, weight, height and age were amongst those that were regularly modified. Anyone could appear younger or older than they actually were in reality. You could even change your gender and race, which piqued a lot of interest from certain groups of people, garnering MWO a large fanbase all over the world.

Users were allowed to modify their appearances as they wished, but just because you appeared older than you were didn't mean that you were allowed to partake in drinking, sex or smoking until of legal age in their country. Furthermore, users were allowed to block modes of the game if they so wished.

Shamal almost suspected the other had some sort of skill in MWO that allowed him to draw attention to himself or perhaps a boost of some sort kind of hidden stat such as [Charisma] or such.

Employing every inch of his will, he looked away from the eye-catching male. He was here to pick up some chicks, not ogle some pubescent-looking male. His interests didn't lie in that direction, thank you very much. He liked women, not teenage boys!

Looking around, he realized that every patron of the bar was staring at the kid with hungry eyes reminiscent of a wolf who hasn't eaten for days. Each person, be they male or female looked like they would like to do nothing but devour him whole. Granted, the people in the bar were still carrying on their conversations, but their eyes were trained on the white-haired figure. They almost seemed as if they were speaking on auto-pilot. There wasn't one customer that had their back turned to the boy. Rather, he was the one who took no notice of them.

Everyone seemed to be bombarding the kid with friend requests, only to receive the ping of rejection by the system. It seemed like Raphael had blocked friend requests, perhaps due to this situation repeating itself countless times.

The mosquito-wielding Mist was baffled. The thoughts of there being some enchanting skill rapidly increased in his mind. Even the damn NPC bartender had his eyes on the kid, for goodness sake. He wasn't even pretending to wipe his glass, dammit. Shamal even entertained the brief thought that the game was bugged.

At this moment, the teenager cast a glance at him, a brief flash of surprise in his eyes. Shamal wasn't sure what he was surprised about, but he felt thoughts screech to a halt as he took in the other's features.

Delicate features and wine-red eyes, the other gave off a cold disposition. His beauty was other-worldly enchanting, like someone who had already reached extreme levels of attractiveness in reality had further beautified himself by another 20%. In the back of Shamal's mind, he had deduced this to be the case, before he roughly shook himself out of his stupor.

The Mist forcefully headed to a far-away table that a reasonably attractive female had sat herself at.

"May I have this seat?" he asked, giving his best charming smile to the other.

"Sure, sure," came the distracted reply. She seemed to be in a daze as she stared at the tan figure in the far corner of the room.

Shamal subtly grit his teeth, but he was sure that even if he didn't do it subtly, the lady wouldn't have noticed regardless.

The Mist shifted his body, partially blocking her sight.

"Ah?" she said, breaking out of her daze. "Hello, handsome," she said, flashing dimples at him. However, her eyes kept flickering to where she could still see the figure, distracted.

Shamal shifted more, seating himself on the chair and fully blocking her sight. He flashed white teeth at her. "And why is a lovely lady such as yourself drinking alone?"

The enchanted lady broke out of her stupor, finally coming back to herself. She giggled, fluttering lashes at the Mist. "Perhaps I was waiting for someone like you to come by."

Shamal inwardly rolled his eyes. She didn't even pay him the slightest bit of attention before, but he'd take what he got. He wasn't looking for anything serious, after all.

Around five minutes later, to the disappointment of many, and the pure glee of a single soul, Raphael left the bar with a well-built male who was taller than him.

Shamal heaved a sigh of relief. The biggest obstacle was gone. Looks like he still had a chance with this lady tonight.

In next few days, Shamal visited the bar in the town of Forest of the Elves repeatedly. Every night, he saw Raphael leave the bar with a different guy. The kid only chose males, and well-built ones at that. Each one of them looked and behaved arrogantly, flaunting their seemingly superior strength. Shamal could see the openings in their poses, the imbalance in their stances.

Not only that, the ones that left with Raphael before came back and pestered him every night, hoping to take him home again. Shamal seemed to be feeling stirrings of jealousy every time he thought about the fact that someone else had been the one who took the other home, but wrote said feelings off as those from whatever skill was being used by Raphael.

Those who came back were all ignored with nary a glance, indifference lining Raphael's face. He never chose the same partner, and having his fair share of admirers, he lacked no shortage of choices. A single glance was all it took for any man or woman to throw themselves at his feet, wanting to warm his bed.

Since Raphael always picked a man, the women were all sorely disappointed and concluded that Raphael IX was gay. Some tried their luck anyway, and were swiftly rejected.

Shamal felt like his resistance to the other's skill was growing by the day, his will keeping him from doing anything rash like try and pick up the other himself. He still liked women, dammit.

Over the course of the night, he was rejected seven times, slapped twice and punched once by a guy whose girlfriend he had hit on.

It was well into the night and it seemed like he wouldn't be getting any action. The Mist sighed, sinking low onto the chair, preparing to go log out for the night.

Then, of course, something had to happen.

Raphael IX stood up from his seat and seemed to be heading towards him.

The collection of eyes in the bar tracked the teen's every move. Their eyes were filled with lust and hunger. It almost seemed as if they wished to burn off his clothes with just a glance and take him all in.

The white-haired figure stopped in front of Shamal, who was gaped at him. What was going on? As far as he had observed, Raphael had never made the first move.

Raphael had a slight smirk on his face. Shamal's eyes instantaneously locked onto the teen's lips, and the faint thought that the teen seemed almost devilish, as if he could fell angels and convert saints ran through his mind.

The teen casually sat down in the chair next to him, reclining on the chair like it was fit for a king.

"Hello, _Shamal_ ," he purred seductively, his pose languid and self-assured.

The Mist suddenly felt achingly aroused. He faintly smelt the scent of vanilla and caramel, a sweet, innocent scent that seemed almost teasing, enticing anyone who was nearby.

"Hello Raphael," he returned, trying to keep his cool. Shamal tried to casually cross his legs to hide his erection. He repeated the fact that he liked women incessantly in his mind. He would not give in, no matter _what_ he was feeling.

Shamal would certainly _not_ be having a sexual crisis in the middle of a bar. In virtual reality no less. No matter how old the other was, his appearance was that of a 15 or 16-year-old. He was not a paedophile.

"You've been sneaking glances at me every night," Raphael said, brushing a finger down the Mist's cheek, eliciting a shudder.

Shamal felt a traitorous blush rising to his cheeks, his body betraying him. He hadn't been doing it on purpose, but he couldn't help looking. It almost seemed as if he was magnetically attracted to the teen. Even when he was looking away, he could feel the other's presence like a beacon of light.

Now that he thought about it, he had probably subconsciously made the decision to return to the bar every night because Raphael was here instead of hopping around bars as was his usual behaviour.

"Well," Raphael continued, "this is your last chance."

Shamal frowned, inexplicably attracted to the offer, conflicted. He didn't have any interest in males before meeting Raphael. He didn't even treat male patients, dammit, let alone have interest.

Should he try to get away from the other and ignore his feelings?

Or should he give into said feelings for once?

The Mist hesitated, not sure of his course of action. On one hand, he badly wanted to give in. On the other, something in his mind was screaming at him to run away.

The white-haired teen pressed in close, purring into his ear. "I'll let you experience pleasure unlike any woman. You'll be left begging for more."

With that said, the teen sauntered out of the bar, not giving him a second glance.

Raphael was a devil, Shamal concluded. He followed the other like a vampire's thrall, seduced and enticed by the other. The instant spike of arousal blurred whatever conflict he was having in his mind, leaving behind all doubts.

Author's note: Forgive my subpar skills in flirting, haha.

On that note, smut in the next chapter.

Just to clarify, even though the virtual world is called Mafia World Online, the Mafia remains in reality. All will be revealed in due time.


End file.
